


So immovable a dislike

by manboobs



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, F/F, Fluff, M/M, POV Stiles Stilinski, Pining Derek, a tiiiiny bit of angst, only fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21704845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manboobs/pseuds/manboobs
Summary: It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a freshman in possession of a good hangover and with an 8am class, must be in want of coffee.In which college freshman Stiles Stilinski is Elizabeth Bennett, the overbearing family is his ragtag group of friends from his hometown, and Derek Hale is Mr Darcy, irascible barista at the Hale Grind coffee shop.
Relationships: Allison Argent & Stiles Stilinski, Allison Argent/Laura Hale, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _“From the very beginning— from the first moment, I may almost say— of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry." - Pride and |Prejudice, Jane Austen_
> 
> I know I said I would not write Sterek anymore, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> I could not resist making this :) :) :)
> 
> Thank you for reading, you can expect semi-regular updates as the whole thing is already thoroughly planned!

It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a freshman in possession of a good hangover and with an 8am class, must be in want of coffee.

Stiles stumbles into the coffee shop with a terrible headache and already late to class. He lost so much time this morning trying to put his pants on the right way around and fighting a losing battle to tame his hair, that he’s got no time to make it to his usual coffee place all the way across campus. The one where the fifty year old barista calls him cutie and gives him a free muffin if he looks particularly miserable. Their coffee isn’t the best but it’s less than three dollars a cup, and that’s invaluable to a college student.

This place is much closer to his dorm, but it looks more hipster, and pricier, than Mr College Bean (the name is part of the charm of the place, okay). Also, it’s _packed_. A whole array of beanie-wearing, shredded-jeans-flaunting people are occupying every square inch of it. Does nobody care about getting to class on time in college? Student life really is anarchy. He cranes his neck, trying to figure out how long the line is to the counter.

“Stilinski!”, a cutting voice calls from the crowded depths of the shop.

He turns around, catches a peek of artfully arranged strawberry blond curls. He sighs. He’s known Lydia Martin for close to a decade now, and she still calls him Stilinski like he’s a lowly AV club geek and she’s the prom queen. Which was true literally last year, but he’s worked hard for this friendship. He’s seen her with her curls all over the place and he’s wiped snot from her face with his hoodie and she’s helped him duct tape his Jeep’s exhaust pipe back together. They’ve _bonded_. She could use his first name, goddammit. 

He makes his way through the crowd with difficulty, squeezing through throngs of students pressing around the counter in search of sweet sweet caffeine. He finally makes it to Lydia’s table, where he’s greeted by the welcome sight of an empty seat next to a sweetly dimpling Allison and the corpse of his former friend Isaac, which is slumped, lifeless, over the table.

“What are you guys doing here?” Stiles asks as he slides delicately into the empty seat.

Lydia takes a sip of her mocha and tips her chin toward the body previously known as Isaac. “This guy had a rough night. We’re trying to cheer him up.”

“Weekend at Bernie’s style?”

Allison snorts. “Something like that.” She frowns at Stiles. “Don’t you have a class right about now?”

Stiles takes a quick look at his phone. 8 am. Fuck. “Uh, yeah. Looks like I missed it.” He shrugs, making sure his head stays attached to his body. 

“You could still make a run for it”, Lydia points out, disapproving. Lydia does not cut class. She’s going to MIT in post-grad and started college as a sophomore. She takes education very seriously. 

“I need caffeine”, Stiles counters. “And if I run, my head will detach itself from my body and I will die. Is this what you want, Lydia? Do you want me to die, like our deceased pal over there?” he adds, pointing to the cadaver of Isaac, which emits a deep post-mortem groan.

“Shut it”, Isaac’s voice rings out from the great beyond, “and get me coffee, Stiles.”

Stiles raises his palms to the heavens in praise. “It lives!”

The newly resurrected body of their friend kicks Stiles under the table, probably in a rigor mortis infused gesture of celebration and affection. He takes it as his cue to brave the line to the sweet nectar of life. Thankfully, it has thinned somewhat, though the number of half-awake hipsters milling around is still too high for his comfort level.

He slithers to the end of the queue, scanning the menu of pretentious, pricey drinks for something strong but still decently drinkable.

After a solid ten minutes of waiting behind a girl who is still in her PJs, Stiles finally makes it to the counter. He looks down from the drinks menu to the display of greasy sweet goodness on his left, then back up the baris- holy hell. Scowling at him with the fury of a thousand suns, is the angriest, scariest, hottest man Stiles has ever seen. He would recoil in fear if there wasn’t already twenty caffeine-deprived zombies behind him.

“What”, the scary barista barks at him. Which is not a customer service appropriate greeting. Not that Stiles cares, exactly, but still. Rude.

“Uuuuh”, he answers intelligently, stalling to take a second look at the drinks menu. His mind has gone totally blank with fear, which is awesome and totally what he wants to happen right now.

Tall, Dark and Could Rip Out Your Throat With His Teeth sighs through his nose in apparent exasperation. How can Stiles have exasperated him already? They’ve barely interacted!

“Hurry it up, there’s a line.”

Stiles can’t help but look back at the tall woman right behind him, who’s pointedly looking at her watch. Ugh, people suck. He takes a last look at the drinks menu, the letters blurring together as adrenaline kicks in. He gulps.

“An oat milk latte and a large black coffee, please”, he blurts out in a strangled, strangely high-pitched voice. 

Hot But Dangerous sends him a loathing scowl as he turns around and busies himself with quickly making Stiles’ order. Stiles resists the urge to cringe and berates himself on getting Isaac’s order right and butchering his own. Black coffee is gross. He’s gonna have to pour so much sugar in that thing to get it to be drinkable. Why is his brain so useless?

Scary Barista interrupts his self-loathing by slapping two steaming cups on the counter in front of him. Stiles jumps a little in surprise. 

“Eight fifty”, Dark and Mean’s lips curl in a sneer as he addresses Stiles.

Motherfucker. That’s like, a week of powdered donut money. Goddamn hipster cafes and their expensive drinks. He bets the gas station across the street has the same coffee for like a buck.

Stiles hands over an Alexander Hamilton with resignation and Would Strangle Strangers For Looking At Him Wrong hands him back his change with barely contained fury. Seriously, what’s this guy’s problem? He makes the most expensive coffee known to man and he acts like customers are a nuisance to him? What an asshole.

Asshole Barista yells “next” over his head as Stiles grabs both his drinks and hurries out of his sight. He walks carefully to the table where his friends are having what looks like a heartfelt conversation about nail polish. He places the oat milk latte next to his deceased friend’s head, where his once luxurious curls now droop sadly over the table, as an offering to his immortal soul, then pours about a million ounces of sugar into his black monstrosity. 

He takes a sip. Huh. Surprisingly drinkable. For a black coffee.

Still. Not worth the nightmare barista.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit more fun exposition of the dynamics between the Bennet sisters, aka Stiles' gang. Next chapter is when we Get Into It, I promise.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

Stiles doesn’t even bother to knock before he throws open the door to Allison and Lydia’ s room, which is what got him into this mess in the first place. Impulse control. Respect of other people’s privacy. Both things he doesn’t possess. 

What he possesses though, are killer lungs.

“I HOPE YOU’RE DECENT BECAUSE I’M- well. Here”, he finishes lamely, surveying the going-ons in the room.

Lydia and Allison regard him with either disdain or admiration from Allison’s bed, where they’re sitting studying or revising or being productive, which Stiles has zero interest in. On the other side of the room, the corpse formerly known as Isaac is laying face down on Lydia’ s comforter, moaning deeply. As usual.

“What are you doing here, Stilinski?” Lydia asks with her customary degree of pleasantness.

Stiles is assaulted with horrible flashes of the scene unfolding before him once again. He screws his eyes shut, counts to five, breathes. 

“It’s Scott. I found him doing unspeakable things to a computer screen. In a discomforting state of nakedness. I fear he’s lost forever.”

He opens his eyes to Lydia nodding wisely. “Sexiled. Sucks.”

Allison detaches her attention from her No Fear Shakespeare to look up at Stiles. “Did you get a chance to say hi to Kira?”

“Did I get a ch-?” He throws his hands up. “They were NAKED. On SKYPE. I yote out the door as fast as I could!”

Allison shrugs and returns to the third act of Richard II like seeing Scott naked is not a traumatizing experience that should be avoided at all cost. Which is fair, since they did date in high school. She has seen Scott’ s thing. Of her own volition. Stiles has too, but he had no choice whatsoever in the matter. It takes a full body shiver to derail this troubling train of thought.

He directs his attention elsewhere, pointing at zombie Lahey. “What’s his problem?”

“He’s moping”, Lydia answers without looking up from her notes.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “I can see that. But why?”

“Math’s hard”, Lydia says, toneless, like she’s had this argument before and is tired of it.

Stiles can’t resist egging her on. “So?” 

She sighs through her nose. It’s working. “So, if he would just stop moping for a second, I could _literally_ teach him math, but apparently it’s _too hard_ ”, she says, making scathing quotation marks around the “too hard”. In response, Isaac emits another deep moan from inside Lydia’s pillow.

Alright. Stiles has got to help here. He’s a good friend like that. Friendly. Helpful.

He walks over to Lydia’s bed and flumps directly over Isaac like a sack of potatoes, ignoring the protesting groan emitted by his new pillow. He wiggles around until his face is pressed right next to the hair that curls over Isaac’s left ear.

“Hey bud. Want me to tell you about all the gross things I witnessed Scott doing in the span of a millisecond?” he stage-whispers, directly into his ear.

“Get out m’face”, is the muffled answer Isaac delivers. Unimpressive.

Stiles takes advantage of his position to smell his hair, because he can. Ugh. Eau de Rank Freshman. 

“You stink”, Stiles informs Isaac, lovingly. Like a good bro. “You should shower more.”

In a swift and powerful move, Isaac slithers from under Stiles, catches him by the nape of the neck and sticks Stiles’ head into his armpit.

Stiles yelps and cries for help, but Isaac is too strong for him. He can’t believe this is how he dies. But survival instinct kicks in. He grabs onto Isaac’s hair and pulls, which Isaac answers to by kneeing him in the nads. It devolves into a ruthless fight to the death. 

He’s busy shoving two of his stinkiest fingers up Isaac’s nose when he’s lifted by the back of the shirt off Isaac and up into the air.

He looks around, dumbfounded, and up at Allison, who’s carrying his whole weight with an extended arm like he weighs nothing. She looks so sweet that he sometimes forgets how strong and deadly she is. But you don’t win bronze in archery at the Olympics by dimpling at the judges (though it might help - he wouldn’t know). 

“You. Dweeb. Help me”, Allison demands, using her hold on his t-shirt to pull him fully off Lydia’s bed and onto his feet while Isaac looks on with glee.

“Help you with what?” he asks. He takes his time straightening out his clothes, trying and failing to regain a modicum of dignity.

“Stuff”, is Allison very helpful answer.

Stiles sighs, fixes her with a look Lydia would probably claim ownership of. “Look, Ally, if you need to bury a body, I’m your guy. But if it’s about math homework, Lydia’s right there-“

“It’s not math!” Allison cuffs him on the arm. Ouch.

Stiles puts both palms up. “Fine! I’ll help you. Just, please, for the love of my very fragile masculinity, stop hurting me.”

Allison snorts, opens the door wide. “Let’s go.”

Stiles falls into step behind her as they exit the dorm room. “Wait, is there seriously a body?” he asks with just a smidge of too much excitement. “Which half?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY! But hey, it's Nanowrimo, and my only goal this month is to finish this fic, so... I mmmight get there. :P 
> 
> Thanks for reading and stuff <3 I hope everyone is taking care of themselves.

Allison stops right outside the dorm, turns to Stiles. “There’s no body. It’s-“ she trails off, looking down, cheeks going pink.

Stiles frowns. "What? What is it?"

She grabs him by the collar of his shirt, his _favorite_ shirt, the very one she keeps stretching with her displays of superior strength, and yanks him forward. “Stilinski, promise you won’t make fun of me”, she says menacingly.

“Whaaaaaaat is happening?” Stiles asks.

She shakes him a little bit. “Promise.”

Stiles sighs. “Fine. I promise. Now unhand me, and spill.”

To his intense surprise, she does release him. She even backs a few feet away from him, crosses her arms. And says nothing.

Stiles decides to wait it out by double-checking the poor state of his favorite shirt. Aw beans, the collar's all stretched now.

“You remember the place where we had coffee Wednesday morning?” Allison finally asks.

Stiles’ left ear is itchy. “Uuuh, yeah? Something Grind? Awful name, expensive coffee?”

Allison nods. “Remember the barista? Big eyes, brown hair, tall?” She picks at her nails. “Well, there was a, uh- connection. And I’ve been thinking- I kinda want to- okay, you see- maybe I made it up in my head?” She looks at Stiles with her big Allison eyes, almost pleading. “So, I want to go back and check. Will you come with me?”

Stiles frowns, trying to put it all together so it makes sense. He knows Allison is into slightly dickish guys. She did date Scott. But that’s a whole new level of asshole.

“Allison”, he says slowly, hands up in the universal "I come in peace" gesture. “I love you, buddy, and I will support you through whatever. But that barista guy is a dick.”

Allison looks at Stiles like he’s possibly the stupidest person she’s ever met, and, full offense, they’re friends with Isaac.

“Not the _guy_ ”, she says very slowly, “the _girl_.”

Uh.

“What girl??

::

Allison takes Stiles to the coffee shop - Hale Grind, ugh, seriously with that name? - in a Super Secret Reconnaissance Mission. The mean barista from the other day is manning the counter, looking his usual brand of stormy. Stiles, brave hero that he is, hides behind Allison as best as he can, being taller than her and all, and discretely (not at all) points at him mouthing “this guy is scary”.

They hover awkwardly in the entrance for a few moments until a striking brunette wearing a Hale Grind apron like it's couture comes out the back door. Her features are sharp, her eyes clear and lively. Contrary to her male counterpart, her mouth is tilted in the promise of a slightly dangerous smile. Oh, Stiles realizes, _that_ girl.

The pretty barista takes over for the scary one, and Stiles and Allison slide smoothly into the queue. A few minutes of Allison nervously picking at her nails later, it's their turn to order. They're greeted by the blinding beam of a full-on grin on Pretty Barista's face.

"Hey", she directs at Allison. "I remember you!"

"Egrhfrkssh", Allison answers.

Stiles very narrowly resists the urge to gape at her. She _does_ need help. Stiles decides to do what he does best: distract people. He beams at the barista. "Hey, I'm Stiles", he points toward Allison, "this is my friend Allison." Alright, Stilinski, good start, now deny every instinct in your body and don't make it weird. "And we'll have an Americano and a..." he trails off, looking quizzically over at Allison.

Allison seems to have recovered from her wayward moment of not being a total boss. She smiles bashfully at the barista. "An ice hazelnut mocha for me, please."

The barista's smiles turns wider for a second. "Alright, coming up!" She all but saunters to the espresso machine.

Next to Stiles, Allison deflates a little bit. "I can't believe I just did that", she whispers.

Stiles offers a comforting pat on her shoulder, jumps a little when the scary barista emerges from the back door with a basket of sweets and a stormy expression and starts restocking the food display without a look to spare for his surroundings.

Pretty Barista deposits both their drinks on the counter next to them a moment later. "Will that be all?"

Allison smiles a patented Argent smile at her, dimples and all. Stiles very nearly fist-pumps. Nobody has ever been able to resist that smile. He bets Pretty Barista is a little bit weak at the knees right now. "Yes, thank you", Allison says, "the coffee here's really good."

Alright, she's got the charm down, but she could do better banter-wise. They can work on that.

The barista cocks an amused eyebrow as she works the register. "Thanks. I'm Laura, by the way." She looks between them. "You guys freshmen?"

Stiles looks at Allison, but she seems to have exhausted all her energy on that thirty-second interaction. "Uuuuuh, yeah!" he answers. "Is it that obvious?"

Pretty Barista, aka Laura, cocks her head to the side, still smiling. "Nah, I just haven't seen you around before." She walks over the food display and, side-stepping Scary Barista, grabs two sugar donuts, slides them over the counter as she swipes Allison's credit card into the reader. "Here, welcome-to-town donuts on the house", she adds with a wink.

Stiles _loves_ her. Allison seems almost speechless, splotches of red blooming on her fair cheeks. She takes back her card, gives Pretty Barista a small smile. "Thank you so much, that's really nice of you." They take their drinks and free donuts from the counter. "See you around?", Allison tacks on bravely as they start walking away.

Pretty Barista's eyes sparkle. "I hope so!"

::

As they exit the coffee shop, Stiles rounds on Allison.

"I didn't know you liked girls!", he says giddily.

Allison opens the paper bag containing the donuts, hands one to Stiles as she rolls her eyes. "Grow up", she says. "People can like more than one gender."

"Uhhh, I know that", he protests. "I’ve met Erica. And Isaac. But I didn’t know _you_ were one of them."

Allison looks down at her donut. "I didn't know that either", she says in a smaller voice.

Stiles softens. Allison is sharing something vulnerable with him, which has happened probably never. He resolves right then and there to try and be less of a shitty spaz and more of a good friend. Maybe he'll ask Lydia for pointers.

"This is exciting!", he exclaims, overly enthusiastic. "She is, like, super pretty. And cool. She gave us free donuts!" He points at the half eaten pastry excitedly as Allison smiles at him, somewhere between grateful and embarrassed. "She's much cooler than the other barista", he adds, "that guy seems like a serious douche."

Allison nods. "He _is_ really hot, though."

Stiles clears his throat. "I wouldn't know", he says, taking a giant bite of what's left of his donut.

Allison gives him a shrewd look.

He operates a strategic change of subject. “Why do you need my help with the pretty barista, anyway? You seemed... a little rusty, but I'm sure with a bit of practice you can handle yourself just fine.”

Allison takes a sip of her ice whatever, stalling. "I'm nervous", she admits, " _obviously_. I've never done this before."

"Flirt with a girl?" Stiles asks.

"Flirt with anyone!", she counters. "Scott and I just kind of... happened in the middle of high school. And I haven't really been... preoccupied with that sort of thing before or after that." She looks at Stiles, her face open. "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to do.... this."

Stiles shifts his weight from one foot to another. He wants to shove his left hand in his back pocket, but it's covered in donut grease and sugar. Oh well. Allison is still looking at him, sincere vulnerability all over her face. Stiles isn't very good with honesty. He's more of a sarcasm guy.

"... and you need me for _my_ valuable expertise in the flirting field?" Stiles supplies.

Allison snorts, slaps his arms dismissively. Again, ouch.

“No", she answers. "You’re such a dweeb and obnoxious, if you’re there I’ll look smooth and in control next to you.”

Re-ouch.

“First of all, lies!", Stiles cries out. "Massive lies. I am charming and smooth and that’s why you need me." He crosses his arms. "But also, what a cunning plan. I am impressed.”

Allison gives him an appreciative, mischievous grin. That's much better.

“So, you’ll help me?” she asks, with just a touch of earnestness.

Stiles considers this while he takes a sip of his Americano. 1) Shenanigans to distract him from his mountain of homework. 2) He gets to help his friend. 3) He might even get good free coffee out of this.

“You’ll pay for the coffee?” Stiles bargains.

Allison rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

Stiles sticks his hand out. They shake on it.


	4. Chapter 4

A few weeks later, Stiles and Allison have been on a handful of Super Secret Sleuthing Missions. Stiles is increasingly uncertain why he needs to tag along because Allison is doing just fine on her own with Pretty-Barista-Please-Stiles-Call-Me-Laura. And he’s become way too used to fancy coffee.

Nevertheless, he’s very enthusiastic about the next outing, sure that this time he can get them to maybe exchange numbers or something, but when he comes to pick Allison up at her dorm, he finds her in the bathroom, puking her guts out. Stiles thinks about turning on his heel and pretending he was just a hallucination for a second, but he sighs and gingerly joins her to pat her back and brush the sticky bits of hair away from her forehead. She looks up at him, miserable.

"Did you do tequila shots with Lydia again?" he asks, commiserating. They've all been there.

Allison feebly shakes her head. "Flu. You should g-get away from me", she says before turning back to the toilet for a fresh bout of puking.

Stiles does not move from his perch on the edge of the bathtub next to her. He's always been strangely immune to all sorts of stomach bugs. It's the great Stilinski disposition. Polish genes, his dad says.

"So I guess you're not coming to the coffee shop, then", Stiles says.

Allison turns a shade whiter. "No", she says, "and neither are you."

"Uh, you're not the boss of me", Stiles replies. He's had a pretty bleak day of studying so far, and he craves the caffeine. Also, maybe going alone would be the perfect opportunity for Stiles to work his magic persuasion skills on Laura, maybe he could-

"Stiles. You're not going to Hale Grind on your own. You're not above passing a "do you like Allison, check yes or no" note to Laura or something equally stupid", Allison interjects as forcefully as she is able with her face half buried in a toilet bowl.

And ok, it's not like he was _seriously_ considering the note. It was just a passing thought, really.

Whatever. He'll show Allison that he can be useful and subtle when he wants to. He makes up his mind and doesn't pay any attention to Allison's feeble pleas for him to promise he won't go and do something stupid.

::

He goes and does something stupid.

He shows up to Hale Grind not twenty minutes after leaving Allison to her bathroom misery. The shop is relatively empty for the hour, which makes it easy for him to loiter in the entrance and peak at his surroundings, looking for Laura. Behind the counter is the scary barista, looking a darker shade of pissed off than his usual gloom. He's engrossed in what looks like a very displeasing conversation with a man wearing a Hale Grind apron, who's busy inspecting the espresso machine. Disappointingly, there's no sign of Laura.

Stiles is considering leaving empty handed and trying again tomorrow, when Scary Barista barks at him from behind the counter, making him jump just a tiny bit.

"You! What do you want?"

Stiles does the whole "who, me??" gesture, kind of hoping Scary Barista is addressing anyone else, but his murder eyebrows seem intent on threatening Stiles and Stiles only.

"Uuuuuh", Stiles' mouth buys some time until his brain kicks into gear. He approaches the counter carefully, making sure to stay outside of Scary Barista's punching range. "Is... Laura... here?"

Scary Barista looks even more pissed off. Stiles is this close to making a run for it, when the man next to him turns toward the counter and gives Stiles a really slow, really creepy once over.

"Well well well, Derek", he says, looking between Scary Barista and Stiles, "what do we have here?"

Stiles opens his mouth to ask the dude if he's a villain in a really bad TV show or something because nobody real ever says that, but Scary Barista - Derek? he does not look like a Derek - beats him to it by yelling "Lauraaaaa! the college kid is here!", which, like: 1) does anyone working here have manners? 2) this is a college town, college kids are 90% of the population. "The college kid" could be absolutely anybody.

Laura explodes out the back door not two seconds later, an excited grin on her face. She deflates a tiny bit when she notices that Stiles is on his own, but you really have to look for it to notice.

"Hey Stiles!" she calls warmly, making her way toward him. As soon as Laura is within reach, Derek the Scary Barista turns on his heels and makes a beeline for the back door without another word. Creepy Barista, however, is looking between Stiles and Laura with increased degrees of interest and sliminess. Laura glances at him and for a heartbeat her face contorts in a grimace of "ew".

"Peter", she says, her voice tighter than Stiles is used to, "don't you want to go help Derek with the new equipment out back?"

Creepy Barista - he _totally_ looks like a Peter - gives Laura a smile dripping with cringe, looks back at Stiles. "You know, I think I'm fine where I am."

Laura smiles, and it's all teeth. "No, really", she insists, "he needs the help."

Peter the Creep sighs, put upon, turns to Stiles. "We look forward to your recurrent patronage", he says, voice all honey and date-rape drugs, leers at him for good measure, before disappearing through the same door Scary B- Derek did.

Stiles is speechless, which his friends would probably pay good money to see. He locks eyes with Laura. "Wow."

She rolls her eyes as she exhales, tension leaving her body. "Yeah", she acquiesces, "he has this effect on people."

"I've never seen him around here", Stiles says. "Is he new?"

Laura swats at his question like it's an annoying fly. "It's a long, boring story, trust me", she dismisses. "What's up with you?" she asks much more enthusiastically. Casual as ever, she adds : "How's Allison?"

Right. Stiles remembers The Plan. He explains (without using the words "puke" or "rancid sweat" even once) Allison's poor state of being to an increasingly concerned Laura.

Laura springs up from where she was leaning on the counter, just before Stiles can start laying it on really thick. "Oh! I've got just the thing for her! An old family recipe..." She looks around, brow furrowed. "I think I have everything I need to make it here..." She looks up at Stiles, sparks in her eyes. "Wait here! I'll be back in two minutes."

Well, okay then. Stiles is left alone with no one manning the counter. They're lucky it's a slow day because that's no way to manage a business, in Stiles' uninformed, unskilled opinion.

Three minutes into scrolling endlessly on Twitter and with a small line forming behind him, Laura springs out from the back door, a brown concoction in a reusable cup with a cartoon llama on it in hand. She slaps it on the counter proudly. "Here you go!" Stiles eyes the cup warily, but far be it from him to express doubt in Laura's drink-making abilities. He's had to admit that the coffee here, though overpriced, is far superior to any he's had before.

"Alright", he says, "how much do I owe you for the... drink?"

Laura waves his question off. "It's on the house, don't worry. It's a secret remedy against stomach bugs, going back generations. I'm from a very old family", she adds with a satisfied smirk.

Stiles smiles at her. Laura is the best. "Thank you. I'm sure it will be much appreciated. What's in it?" he asks.

Laura winks at him. "Can't tell you. It's a _secret_ remedy." She goes over the food display and takes out a donut, hands it to Stiles.

"A donut? I don't think she's-"

"No, the donut is for you", Laura interrupts. "For being a good friend."

Aw. "You can't keep giving me free food", Stiles protests for argument's sake. "Your boss will find out and you'll get fired. I can't have that on my conscience."

Allison laughs. "Don't worry about me, Stiles. I'll be fine."

Laura sends Stiles on her way to Allison, with a promise to convey her well wishes and come back with news about her recovery. He gets lost in daydreams of asking Laura to adopt him once she and Allison are definitely dating, and realizes halfway home that he forgot to get coffee for himself.

::

The brown drink thing works actual wonders on Allison. Against all odds, Allison confesses it's not even that disgusting. Stiles is pretty curious about its ingredients, but he's more focused on making Allison admit he did not, in fact, ruin everything by going to the coffee shop alone and is a great friend slash genius.

Even with the help of Laura's magic drink, Allison's recovery is slow. That's the delicate French disposition for you. Not that he'd say that out loud, to her face.

She's weak enough not to tempt fate by setting foot outside, let alone leg it all the way to Hale Grind. That makes Stiles Designated Fetcher of Comfort Drinks for the week, on a probationary basis because of good behavior. He goes to the coffee shop every morning to deliver news and thanks in equal measure, and is sent back with brown stuff for Allison and coffee for himself, as well as warm and fuzzy feelings for the both of them, courtesy of Laura the Pretty Barista.

But on the third day of this little arrangement, Laura is nowhere to be found when he enters Hale Grind. Derek the Scary Barista, whose natural state seems to be looming darkly over the food display or the espresso machine, is now manning the counter. He glances at Stiles as he crests the threshold of the shop and gestures vaguely at him to approach, looking like maybe he has an axe propped up behind the counter with Stiles' name on it.

Stiles approaches with a certain amount of trepidation. When he gets close enough, Derek grunts in what could be considered a greeting fashion? Maybe? He reaches down behind the counter, Stiles instinctively bracing for the axe, but he just plops the llama cup Stiles has been carrying back and forth for the past few days on the counter. It's already full of the brown mystery stuff. Uh.

Scary Barista looks at him and, like it pains him greatly, starts talking. "My sister had", he waves a hand in the air, "stuff... so here's the... drink thing. For your friend."

"Who's your sist-" Stiles starts before his brain catches up to his mouth. He can't help but gape.

"You're related to _Laura_?" he all but yells. It comes out more accusatory than he meant to, but it's still... difficult to wrap his mind around it. Laura's so _nice_. Still, now that he's been smacked in the face by the notion, he can't help but notice the physical similarities there. Obviously, they're both tall, dark and attractive, and there's something vaguely dangerous about both of them. But there's also finer physical features, the shape of the eyes, the quirk of the lips, ... Oh my _god_ , they're siblings. Allison will never believe this.

While Stiles was busy having a meltdown in the privacy of his own head, Scary Barista's eyebrows have fused into one line of danger across his forehead. Stiles takes a precautionary step back, just in case. Derek sighs through his nose sharply. "What'll be?" he asks gruffly.

Baffled, Stiles forgets himself and looks him in the eye for a second. Derek looks back, annoyed, until Stiles' brain catches up with the situation. The situation being, this is a coffee shop, Derek is a barista, Stiles is a customer standing in front of the ordering counter. Scary Barista is ignoring his personal query and asking him what is order is. Because there's a line forming behind him and he doesn't know it by heart like Laura does. Laura, his _sister_. Right.

He clears his throat, looks down at his shoes. "Large Americano, please."

With another vague grunt, Derek busies himself making Stiles' drink, while Stiles focuses on not letting the intense awkwardness he feels make itself apparent through bright red splotches on his cheeks.

Derek slaps his coffee on the counter next to the cartoon llama, punches in Stiles' order quickly. "That'll be 3.70", Derek announces.

"It's 4.50", Stiles blurts automatically, then looks up to see Derek staring at the cash register like it's personally offended him.

"Laura insisted on you people getting the regulars discount", Derek explains without lifting his eyes from the screen.

"Oh, uh. That's... nice", Stiles says. "Thanks", he adds as he hands Derek a five dollar bill. Derek hands him his change without looking at him. Stiles grabs his drinks and books it out of there in record time.

Damn, this dude has issues. Maybe Stiles was a bit rude, but nobody has ever reacted that strongly to his lack of brain-to-mouth filter. Anyway, if it weren't for Allison and Laura, Stiles would be quite happy never setting foot in Hale Grind ever again.


End file.
